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LAODICE AND DANAE 



THE CONTEMPORARY SERIES 

UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME 



Laodice and Danae Play in Verse 

By Gordon Bottomley 

Images — Old and New Poems 

By Richard Aldington 

The English Tongue and Other Poems 
By Lewis IVorthington Smith 

Five Men and Pompey Dramatic Portraits 

By Stephen Vincent Benet 

Horizons Poems 

By Robert Alden Sanborn 

The Tragedy A Fantasy in Verse 

By Gilbert Moyle 



LAODICE AND DANAE 



PLAY IN ONE ACT 



BY 



GORDON BOTTOMLEY 




Boston 

The Four Seas Company 

1916 






Copyright, ipi6, by 
The Four Seas Company 



PEO 1 1 i9i8 



THE FOUR SEAS PRESS 
BOSTON AND NORWOOD 



©Ci.D -i'Jl.'O 



To B. J. FLETCHER 

rare Ben Fletcher, oft I bless 
Your rotund Jacobean name; 

If the great crew could still express 
Their hearts in their dim place of Fame, 
As once at Globe or Mermaid-ales, 
With love your liking they would greet 
For country things and queens' mad tales 
And lines with sounding feet. 

But in this troublous newer time 
Such fellows have not filled your days. 
So it is left for me to chime 
These quieter verses of your praise: 
For a fair theme I need not strive 
While manhood knows as boyhood knew 
The joys of art, the joys of life, 

1 have received fromi you. 

What days could ever be so long 
As those our pristine Summers poised 
O'er a charmed valley isled among 
Their bright slow-breaking tides unnoised? 
Then Dials zvere neiv and came to stir 
A passionate thirst within the eyes; 



Each dawn was a discoverer 
Of poets unearthly wise. 

First-comer of my friends, the years 
Behold much friendship fade and set; 
The shrunken tvorld imparts its fears, 
Most men their early power forget. 
But art stays true for us, and we 
In it are steadfast: for a sign 
Its wonder joins us changelessly 
Your name stands here wiih mine. 



ARGUMENT 

Antiochus Theos, one of the Hellenic Kings of the 
East of the line of Seleucus, reigned in Antioch. He 
had espoused Laodice his kinswoman, according to the 
usage of his race; but after many years he put her 
from him, and took to wife Berenice, daughter and 
sister of Ptolemys of Egypt, for reasons of state. 

I^odice withdrew to Ephesus and kept court there : 
long aflFection, resurgent, sent Antiochus thither to join 
her. Shortly afterward he died at Ephesus in Laodice's 
care. 

Berenice and Laodice then warred, each to gain the 
kingdom for her child : the infant son of Berenice dis- 
appeared, and eventually Seleucus H., the son of 
Laodice, held the throne of Antiochus, 

In the course of their wars Laodice retired from 
Ephesus on finding that Sophron, the governor of the 
city, secretly trafficked with the party of Berenice. 
While she sat in some adjacent city Sophron unsus- 
piciously rejoined her councils; she immediately de- 
vised his death, but he, being warned by his old love 
Danae, the queen's favorite, saved himself by flight. 

Persons 
Laodice, a Queen of the Seleucid House in Asia. 

Danae, Mysta, Rhodogune, Barsine, and other 
waiting-women. 

Sophron, Seleucid Governor of Ephesus. 
In Smyrna. B. C. 246. 



LAODICE AND DANAfi 



LAODICE AND DANAE 



Behind the curtain a woman sings to the accompani- 
ment of a harp and a bell. 

MAIDEN born in a dance 
Looking first on the moon 
Between camellias 
(Rose seen white in the chance), 
Solemn the bough-hung space 
Dim for the white hurt mother 
Whose feet still twitched to the tune 
That gleamed in the throbbing smother 
Of light, the murmur of feet 
And touching of ankle-rings. 
So strange and far the heat, 
Compelling rhythms, words lost, 
Vapours of odours, strings 
Of pearls that swung and tost 
Under eyes' retreat. . . . 
The stars go down in ones ; 
Night air lifts long leaves 
That let a star drop through, 
Shut on it as dew runs 
And the vanished light receives .... 
The new-bom eyes shut too .... 
The curtain rises 
A lofty chamber of mingled Hellenic and Asiatic arch- 
itecture is seen. The walls are of black stone; on 

II 



12 Laodice and Danae 

the right a portal toward the front of the stage is 
concealed by a curtain embroidered with parrots 
and Babylonian branch-work ; high and toward the 
back is a double window, tvith open cedar lattices, 
of an inner room: high in the opposed wall is a short 
arcade with a projecting gallery. An open colon- 
nade extends across the rear wall at two thirds of its 
height; its pillars support the roof: the platform of 
this colonnade is accessible by an open stair recessed 
in the wall. 

Queen Laodice reclines on a great divan set toward 
the left centre of the chamber. The musicians 
whose singing and playing have just ceased kneel 
on a Persian carpet before her: between them and 
the portals stands a tall brazier whence a wavering 
heat rises. A golden evening sky is visible through 
the colonnade, where Danae leans against a pillar. 

Laodice. 

Be silent now ; I let you sing too much, 
I am awaiting now too many things 
To bear this fret of waiting till you end 
And I can think again. Be quietly gone. 

The women go out. 

Danae. 

You bade them sing to make one moment brief. 

Laodice. 

What are you watching like a larger cat, 
Sweetheart, little heart, noiseless and alert? 
You shall not watch me like a prim wise cat. 



Laodice and Danae 13 

Danae. 

I watch a girl sway slightly, near the tide. 

As if rehearsing dance-steps in her heart; 

She hangs lit snakes of sea-weed down her bosom; 

She takes a letter from her bunchy hair. . . . 

She laughs and leans over, holding the pillar. 

Laodice. 

Find me a ship, ships — dark ones, strange ones — 
1 must have ships, so find them, little heart. 
And, more than all, a ship of Antioch. 

Danae. 

How tiny a girl looks under these deep rocks .... 

Laodice yawns. 
Madam, I have searched well ; yet until now 
No deep-sea ship has passed the promontory; 
Now a great ship with tawny sails comes on. 
An ocean-threatening centaur for its prow. 

Laodice. 

That is from Ephesus, not Antioch .... 
I purge one thought thereby and make repayment. 
I am taken with an inward shivering: 
Perhaps I am cold with night — come down and 
warm me. 

Danae descends and reclines by Laodice. 
Haughty and passive and obedient. 
May not my queen's bosom receive your head? 
When I worked empery in Ephesus 
That Sophron, governor — did he not love you? 



14 Laodice and Danae 

Danae. 

He said he did. 

Laodice. 

And you? 

Danae. 

I said he did. 
Thereon he made too sure of me too soon: 
It is unwise to let men be too sure, 
And for that reason I hung up my silks 
On a swart Nabatsean, having smeared her 
With my rare private unguent, and concealed her 
In his choice corner — where she bit his lip, 
Then let her laughing teeth take light of moon. 
There was no more of Sophron afterward. . . . 
Although I looked at him almost penitently .... 

Laodice. 

No more? Was there no more, my little one? 

Danae. 

Ah, yes .... When he would never look at me 

I felt I could not live outside his arms. 

I went to him at night in a slave's skirt, 

And by humiliating actions soothed 

His wincing mind, until he stooped to me. 

I had him soon. And then I tired of him. 

Laodice. 
And then, indeed, there was no more at all ? 



Laodice and Danae 15 

Danae. 

I have not seen him since. We left that city. 

You have my faith. You know I am all yours. 
Laodice. 

That is quite well. He has no years for you ; 

He is found treasonous and must be undone. 

O, he goes out Dear, I am very cold. 

Is it because my heart is cold? Men say it. 
Danae. 

Your heart is warm to me. 
Laodice. 

What do men say? 
Danae. 

They say you fled to Sardis and to Smyrna 

Because you poisoned him at Ephesus 

And heard his feet when a room echoed. 
Laodice. 

Him? 
Danae. 

Antiochus the God, your king and spouse. 
Laodice. 

Why do they so consider me the cause ? 
Danae. 

You hold the physician Smerdis in more favour. 
Laodice. 

And did I poison him, my Danae? 
Danae. 

Dear lady, surely. 



i6 Laodice and Danae 

Laodice. 

Surely It is sure. 

Was I not made the Sister, natural wife? 

Did he not change me for a daughter of Egypt 

Robed with a satrapy, crowned by an isle? 

She laved her body daily in Nile water. 

Which can make fruitful even stones and virgins; 

It soon brought forth the mud's accustomed spawn 

And valuable heir of all the lands. 

How could she keep him? Needing me he turned — 

Was it not best to die still needing me, 

And save the amount of kingdoms for my boy, 

The climbing vine of gold up Shushan's front. 

The cedar palaces of Ecbatana? 

Though Berenice sits in Antioch 

Safe with her suckling, in her suckling's name. . . . 

Winds, bring to me a ship from Antioch. 

Since that dread night when Mysta stept not down 

With all you speechless ones to disarray me. 

Have you not dreamed that I did poison her? 

Her love is more than yours, for she had crept 

To Antioch to sell herself in bondage 

Where Berenice buys, that she may nurse 

The child for Berenice — and for me. 

While uncle Egypt plucks my crown for it. 

Danae. 

Which fingers mixed the poison? See, I kiss them, 
Trust them ever to do their will with miC. 
There is no poison in a poppy seed; 



Laodice and Danae 17 

The seedling draws its venom from the earth — 
'Tis the earth's natural need for such event. 

Laodice. 

Ay, but the disposition is in the seed; 
I poison by a motion of the heart. 

Rhodogune, a Parthian waiting-woman, enters. 

Rhodogune. 

Madam, the governor of Ephesus 

Come newly from the harbour to your will. 

Danae. 
Sophron ! 

Laodice. 

Lie still. 

A silence. 

Rhodogune. 

Madam, must I go down? 

Laodice. 

Bid this Ephesian governor to me. 

Rhodogune goes out. Laodice lays a 

hand on Danae's heart. 
It is now twilight. Sophron enters. 

Sophron. 
Queen, am I swift enough to your commanding? 



i8 Laodice and Danae 

Laodice. 

I am ever rich in your discerning service. 
Why came you by the sea? 

She sees that Sophron's gaze is fixed on 
Danae, who does not look at him. 

Girl, stand behind me. 
Danae obeys. 
Why came you by the sea? 

SOPHRON. 

Lady .... the sea ? . . . . 

Laodice. 

Does not the way by land still fit mine urgence? 

SOPHRON. 

Your safety's urgence made it seem most good 
To search the straits for masts of Ptolemy. 

Laodice. 

Ha. . , . Yes. . . . And did you speak with any such? 
Danae looks at Sophron and shakes her head. 

SoPHRON. 

The seas were void of alien keels to-night. 

Laodice. 

Are there Egyptians seen in Ephesus? 

SoPHRON. 

None since the aged men who mummied the king. 

Laodice. 

Tell me the common talk of Egypt's plan ; 
And what device to handle Ptolemy. 



Laodice and Danae 19 

SOPHRON. 

There's but a common fear of Egypt's secret. 
We cannot meet him yet unless the cities, 
Yea all these cities of men, take hands with us. 

Laodice. 

Must I keep house in Smyrna still, my man? 
Play queen in a corner harmlessly? 

SoPHRON. 

Madam, 
The coast is safer here than Ephesus, 
Retreat on Sardis safer and more ready. 

Laodice. 

I more withdrawn apart from my main kingdom, 
Baffled from drainage of the unended East. 
I have required you here because a word, 
Perhaps a word malicious, has crept here: 
It has been said that some Ephesian men 
Have bartered for my town with Ptolemy — 
Do you know any of these? Do they live? 

SoPHRON. 

There are none known : such could not sell past me. 

Laodice. 
They use my palace : examine those about you. 

SoPHRON. 

There is no need: I know them to be clean. 

Danae again shakes her head, but more eagerly. 



20 Laodice and Danae 

Laodice, turning her head and looking up at Danae 
suddenly. 

Why do you tremble, girl ? There's nought to fear. 
As she begins to speak Danae's hair is shaken 
loose; a rose falls from it and breaks on 
Laodice's shoulder. Laodice laughs and plays 
with the petals, continuing without pause. 

Do you drop me a sleepy kiss, maiden, my rare one ? 

But O, you have so tumbled your hair to cull it — 

Come hither, kneel and I will bind it up. 

Danae, obeying. 

Lady, I coiled it carelessly Indeed 

Such ministration is my precious pardon. 

Laodice. 

Silk, silky silk so delicious to finger. . . . 

Rose I held; ruby-glows; then dark hair in my 

hands .... 
Nay, I am hot ; I burn ; stay there and fan me .... 
Dear, do not cease at all. 
To Sophron. 

Well, my captain? 

SoPHRON. 

You shall have men's minds searched in Ephesus. 

Laodice. 

I like your mind. Also, I have considered 
You must shut up your port, let out no ship ; 
Then Ptolemy shall be more sure each night 
That he has wiped the seas .... till you slip out. 



Laodice and Danae 21 

SoPHRON, in stupefaction. 
Slip .... out ? 

Laodice. 

Ay, Sophron, fall on him. 

SoPHRON, eagerly. 

Yes, yes : 
These things shall be, and you shall not complain. 

Laodice. 

Nay, go not now ; be my great guest this night. 
The tide will take you not until more day, 
And in the dawn, white hour of clearest thought,. 
I need more counsel from you for my deeds. 

She clasps her hands: Barsine, a Persian, enters. 
Let this strong captain be well feasted now 
In winy webs of my embroidering — 
Or — no — a purple suits his temper best ; 
And send a slave to him for him to rule. 

SoPHRON. 

Graciousness, yours : let me but stay my seamen. 

Laodice. 

Haretas the Pisidian shall go down 

Into the place of ships, but not my guest : 

Entrust your ring to this, and she will bear it. 

Barsine and Sophron go out. Laodice nods to herself. 
I saw his ring: it was a new green scarab. 
Danae ceases fanning- without Laodice heeding. 



22 Laodice and Danae 

Rhodogune, outside. 

She-dog, come back and you shall have but whips. 
A dirty woman runs in, bearing a bundle with- 
in her ragged robe; Rhodogune follows her. 
Laodice, slowly. 

I have not need of rinds and lees to-night ; 
Come, take these out and burn them. 

The Woman. 

Ay, come. 

Laodice, starting up. 

Mysta, Mysta, my joy! What have you there? 
The thing a mother called Antiochus? 
To Rhodogune. 

Do you not know your fellow and my hand ? 

Rhodogune retires. 

Mysta. 

I was the handmaid of a displaced queen ; 
I am dry nurse to the undoubted queen, 
Come back merely to boast and make display 
How lusty a baby grows in careful hands, 
How noble I to carry a living king. 

Laodice, leaping to her. 

Unwind, dishevel, give it up to me. 

Clapping her hands. 
Let there be lights above : I must see closely. 
If I embrace you I shall touch it too. 



Laodice and Danae 23 

A woman hangs a lamp from long chains over 
the gallery on the left, then withdraws. After 
a moment she passes along the colonnade 
from left to right and disappears. A moment 
later she leans from the lattice windows on 
the right to light two lamps suspended from 
the roof to a point immediately below her. 
The lights are such that, when the twilight 
has gone, the figures of the persons are more 
definite than their features, and the upper 
part of the chamber is almost unlit. In the 
meantime 

Mysta. 

Nay, we are but harbour-drift from Antioch : 
Come, take us out and burn us. 

Laodice, 

Aha, Mysta. 

Mysta. 

Touch not my hair ; 'tis foul from many ships. 

Laodice. 

I have ached by watching ships that were not yours. 
Were you in Sophron's vessel? Did he know? 

Mysta. 

She did not trust me soon to tend her child, 
Returning oft like the uneasy cat ... . 
When I have slipt these rags on it and me 
I herded with night-women by the shore. 
Ere there, I past a rift in palaces, 



24 Laodice and Danae 

Moment of empty street and Berenice 
Marching with hunger in her bright fixed eyes, 
Champing her golden chain — one hand on it 
Tugged her mouth downward — one hand smote a 

spear 
Upon the stones as she stepped on and on 
Toward the house of Caeneus your known friend. 
They spied the harbour; I must leave by land; 
Then was some tale of fishers, trading sloops: 
Sophron knows not the thief like a fierce mother 
Whose hard feet last left ship at Ephesus — 
Where Ptolemy is looked for eagerly. 

As she speaks, Laodice has drawn a scarf from 
her shoulders, twisted it and strained it in her 
hands; it tears and she throws it down. 

Mysta holds out the child to her. 
'Twas warm and quiet so long. Let it live. 

Laodice, taking the child and scanning it. 
Let me read here : 

This is the mould, wrongly retouched and spent — 
It is his child and yet I have not known it. . . . 

Clasping it closely to her. 
I am the changeless mother of this race, 
And this a younger seed. By the opened womb 
I have decided being: and I decide. 
Much Asia has been spanned to leave it here, 
More Asia will be narrowed by her searchers ; 
Mysta might die next time. It must die. 
I reached my hand and took it to make sure 



Laodice and Danae 25 

My order and number of children still were true. 
I have looked on it — its purport is completed. 

Mysta. 

It could be hid for ever : let it live. 

Laodice. 

Mysta shall need my ritual bath and wardrobe; 
Serve me by delicate sleep. Mysta must go. 
She kisses Mysta and leads her to the portal. 
Mysta goes out passively. 

Laodice. 

Danae, pile me cushions and hollow them — 
There in the shallowed seat beyond the breeze. 
No ; larger cushions with no rough gold in stitchings. 
One softer for his head — now hold it there 
Till I can kneel and lay him in the dimmest, 
For he may sleep a little yet. Ay, so ... . 
I had well nigh forgotten to appoint 
Sophron a chamber. 

Danae. 

Madam, I will go. 

Laodice. 

You speak too loudly. Madam, you will remain: 

I need you to cast gums upon the censer 

And make me drowsy — I must sleep some moments. 

Danae. 

Storax alone, or juniper? 



26 Laodice and Danae 

Laodice. 

O, storax. 
Danae goes to a recess in the wall near the portal, 
and takes out a painted bowl. She pours grains 
from it slowly upon the brazier; brief cloudy 
flames illumine her face. 
Did the Silk- People shape that bowl? 

Danae. 

Maybe 

I could burn up the world like this to-night, 
To make an end of conflicts and of burdens. 

As Laodice claps her hands Barsine hurries in 
breathlessly. 

Barsine. 

Queen, Queen .... 

Laodice, watching Danae. 

Make ready fragrantly and freshly 
Chamber for Sophron next to that of Smerdis. 
Then send Smerdis with knives and drugs to me. 
Danae opens her mouth as if to speak — the 
flames fall as she holds the bowl poised 
motionlessly. 

Barsine. 

Sophron — none can find him; he has gone. 

Danae lets the contents of the bowl slide into 
the brazier; a shaft of flame flares high, she 
averts her face. 



Laodice and Danae T.'J 

Laodice. 
Ho, we are dropping roses all the time? 
Men ; bring me men and torches and sharp spears — 
A boat to cut the Centaur's rudder-ropes — 

I will go down and take him back Hui .... 

She sweeps out followed by Barsine. 

Danae. 

O, Sophron, out by the land ! Nay, he knows more — 
And she, and she. . . . Watch-towers divide this 

earth, 
Horses go here .... And he may save a ship. 

She draws aside the curtain to look beyond. 

Go, go, my queen, for women's skirts impede you. 

She ascends swiftly to the colonnade: a starry 

night shows her form dimly. 

Fishers' small lights, be drenched — you show too 

much 
At height of settling gulls above the water. . . . 
Ah....h, nothing, nothing. Something will not 

happen. 
And let this life go on again. Nothing. 
Yet. . . . yet. . . . the air is beating on my temples 
As though a rabble murmured beyond hearing. 
Rhodogune enters. 

Rhodogune. 

Danae, are you here? 

Danae. 

I am here. 



28 Laodice and Danae 

Rhodogune, 

Where is the queen? 

Danae. 

Nearing the shore by now, 

Rhodogune. 

I have a drunken woman with nine snakes 
That follow her as freshets a drowned body, 
Then lift wise sibilant heads in guardian swaying; 
Her lair could well be traced by emptied streets. 
She is too drunk to speak, but sings the better 
A praise of poisonous snakes and the fools of wine, 
While in the night they circle and streak for answer 
Like wineish lines of light, black rubies' gleams. 
Shall I not bring her for the queen to use. 
Who loves delights like dangers come too near? 

Danae. 

Put her away in a safe place till morning — 

The queen is smouldering again to-night. 

And, if she sees your epileptic mummer, 

Will make us tie her up with her own serpents .... 

Babble no more to me — I must be watching. 

Rhodogune. 

You are not the queen, although the queen's play- 
thing ; 
Deign not your sweet commandments unto us. 

She goes out. 

Danae. 

Sophron, your bare grand neck's a tawny pillar 



Laodice and Danae 29 

To lean a cheek against in burning noons; 
Your careless eyes look deeplier than you know; 
You must be kept in Hfe. . . . Down there, down 

there 
Is something darker, swifter than the sea. . . . 
An unseen smoky glare is mirrored now. . . . 
That was his boat : he is gone . . . Sophron, Sophron ! 
The sea is suddenly empty — and all places. 
I have given him to mine enemies. She'll not kill 

him. 
Now I must waken and repent my dreams : 
Ay, Sophron, get you gone — I am whole again ; 
I am the queen's — and O, farewell, farewell. 

She descends the stair slowly. 
I am the queen's indeed. Is she yet mine. 
Ditizele — 
A Voice, from within the cedar lattice. 
Who is it calls me? 

Danae. 

Danae. 
The Voice. 

Yes? 

Danae. 

The queen has spoilt my rose — throw me a young 
one. 

A rosebud falls from the lattice: Danae sets it 
in her hair. 

Thanks, dear She has put up my hair awry — 

It will remind her she put up my hair. 



30 Laodice and Danae 

She shakes down her hair and knots it again, 
holding the rose-stalk in her mouth until she 
can replace it. 
These Asiatic nights ruin the hair, 
Their humid heat puts out its inner lights — 
Mine waves with gleams no more than names of 

Iran. . . . 
Now she has left the shore — Now she will set 
Her feet upon the stairs like setting of teeth. . . . 

The child cries a little once: Danae goes to it. 
O, baby, the old silence of palaces 
Is settling on you steadily. Your crying 
Is shut within — and shall be farther enclosed. 
One light small cry shows all so much too quiet. 
Laodice, who has entered noiselessly and comes he- 
hind Danae. 
Ay, do you consort with mine enemies? 
Danae, wailing. 
Ah .... Ah .... I sickened with the secret thing. 
The too faint sound that crept about my neck. 

Laodice, slipping an arm about her. 

Nay, Rose-Locks, calm thy heart ; I did but tease 
Thy mothering this lost child, king's waif and 

surplus. 
Rare nurses his : the next will be the last : 
Some treachery will ever draw toward him. 
Rest you again upon the Persian couch. 
And I will sit with you and comfort you. 

Leading her to the divan. 



Laodice and Danae 31 

Do not forget the cherishing of a queen: 

I could not catch your Sophron for you, child. 

Danae, 

I was not seeking him : he is better gone. 

Laodice. 

Yet such delight to lead him to your arms : 
You said you looked at him almost penitently. 

Danae. 

Madam, you mock me ; I have passed from him. 

Laodice. 

Yes, yes ; but rapture for your mind severe 
Lies in the nearness of wise and powerful men, 
As once for famous high Leontion, 
That philosophic courtesan your mother. 
Let be; but tell me of his quietest scheme. 

Danae. 

I know him not : I never knew his mind. 

Several women appear dimly at the latticed 
windows and the gallery. 

Laodice. 
Ah, well .... I am tired, and it is your dear turn 
To open your arms. Hold me and I will nestle, 
Will murmur for you to hear along your neck. 
What shall we do to-morrow, Danae ? 

Danae. 

Fair mistress, I can dance for you to-morrow. 

Laodice. 

Yes, but my dainty cannot dance all day — 

She must have long, long quiet for her thoughts. 



32 Laodice and Danae 

Danae. 

Then shall I wing the bright and silken birds 
About the border of your Persian mantle? 

Laodice. 

How should I do without you so many hours? 

Danae. 

Your Parthian has a witch of snakes for you — 

Laodice. 

I can charm snakes and even pith their fangs. 

Danae. 

This is a rare one and, if she is drunken, 
Does uncouth things delicious to the senses. 
Steep in her wine the herb that makes insane — 

Laodice. 

The herb , . . . ? 

Danae. 

The viscous plant that grows i' your chamber- 
Strange longer serpents shall be swiftly snared 
And mixt untamed with hers, for you to read 
Her gaping and ridiculous tragedy 
As the cold perils sober her to pallor. 

Laodice. 

It is not novel .... With a secret call 
I have turned snakes upon such things before. 
I am learned and I need some graver pang — 
Something as unsuspected as to tell you 
That I had poisoned you three hours ago, 
And see you disbelieve — begin to believe. 



Laodice and Danae 33 

Danae, 

But you did not. 

Laodice. 

There is the disbelief 

A pause. 
If I had done so I should here avouch 
I could not do it — then await a sign. 

Danae. 

Ah, I am yours . . . You have not doomed me yet. 
Queen with the wells of night for human eyes, 
Let us descend upon the sea to-morrow. 
Rule your own kingdom by your cedarn barge : 
We will recline together, hushed as here 
Save for the waters' converse just beneath 
Permeant as my pulse veiled by your cheek. 

Laodice, 

I am uneasy now and should disturb you — 
And thence your restlessness would chafe me more 
I must make sure that you will lie quite still : 
May I so still you? Then you shall to sea. 
We'll sail about the limit of the lands 
Until you reach the river of Babylon. 

Danae. 

So much in one rapt day ? 

The days of life can never compass that. 

Laodice. 

Not in a day, but in a day and night : 
Conceive the night, my Danae, the night — 



34 Laodice and Danae 

It is the natural state of being and space, 

Briefly interrupted by casual suns. 

Much unknown empires are attained in night — 

Perhaps not Babylon, yet far enough. 

One night can be a very proper leng^. 

Danae. 

You mean that I am poisoned after all. 

Laodice. 

Indeed, my Danae, it is not so. 

In this barbaric land, this bright harsh dye-pot, 

Peopled by camels and cynocephali 

And hairy men of soiled uncertain hue, 

O, do you not remember nights of Athens 

Built well about with marbles and clear skies. 

Wherein your mother and such noble women 

Conversed with poets and heroes in lit groves. 

And life subtled? Have you not longed for them? 

I am sending you to such a farther country, 

Away from this shrunk mummy of live earth. 

Danae. 

Madam, I know you not — when must I leave you ? 

Laodice, clapping her hands. 

It is the hour, and you shall launch to-night. 
Women, women, come hither every woman. 

The faces disappear from the upper windows: 
eleven women appear on the colonnade, some 
from each side, and descend the stair rapidly. 
Get on your knees about us — both knees. 



Laodice and Danae 35 

Stand up, my Danae, be overbearing. 

Women, when any woman has a kingdom 

And is a regnant being, does it not suit 

That in the disposition of her state 

Women should figure her and power afar? 

This kingdom I control has thrones of cities, 

So many that I, when I would sit therein, 

Must cast my shadows there : and chief of these 

Is Babylon the nest of bygone things. 

'Tis to that Babylon I now appoint 

My bosom's clasp, my Danae, for satrap ; 

She shall oppress among dead queens and gods, 

Keep house where sheer dominion walks, command 

Enamelled palaces with copper roofs. 

Pillars with gardens for their pediments — 

Staircase for Anakim in Babylon. 

And when ye are as dear to me as she 

Ye shall advance upon such larger ways. 

Danae. 

O, what is this you do ? I am lost in it. 

A Woman. 

But how ? The duplicate queen holds Babylon. 

Laodice. 
It shall be mine again ere Danae's advent. . . . 
Danae, sister of pearls, do I displease you ? 

Danae. 

Tell out your purpose, though I wreck by it. 



36 Laodice and Danae 

Laodice. 

Could higher estate persuade such disbelief? 

Barsine, now disburden of its store 

The old brass coffer of my inner house — 

The gems, the flower-striped silks, the mousselines 

Worn by such royal girls of Babylon ; 

So rare a satrap as we do devise 

Must be as Babylonish as her earth. 

Barsine goes out. 
Put out your hand, young princess, dip your hand 
Among these herded common indiscretions. 
And gratefully they'll mouth it. Nay, I'll lead you. 

Second Woman. 

Madam, remember me when you are miglity. 

Third Woman. 

And, O, forget not me. 

Laodice. 

Arise you humbled ones, jealous too long; 
Take off her Greekish marks of my poor service, 
Make ready her precious body to be tangled 
In clotted skeins of her affiliate province. 

The women strip Danae of all but her under-robe. 

friend, I do reproach you, for your gay heart 
Has surely turned from me too easily 

When something in you fades and alters so ... . 

1 have done this — my cherished, still keep mine . . . . 

Barsine enters, her arms heaped with robes. 
These be your pretties. Greeks know not to use 
Layers of denial — you Persian, can you say? 



Laodice and Danae 37 

Barsine. 
These silken trousers tied above the knees, 
Yet falling to the feet, are first. 

Laodice. 

Ay, so. 

Barsine. ■■'^•^:-? 

And now this inner gown shrinks close. 

Laodice. 

Ay, so. 

Barsine. 
Then this brocady robe with fan-flung train 
And widening muffling sleeves. 

Laodice. 

Can it be so? 
Pure Greeks conceive not slavery of sleeves. 

Barsine. 
The pointed citron shoes. 

Laodice. 

Not even sandals ? 

Barsine. 

There needs a shawl like gardens for a girdle, 
But none was hoarded. 

Laodice. 

Put your own on her. 
Give me the jewels : I wish to play with the jewels. 



38 Laodice and Danae 

Barsine. 
In the horn sphere : press on the metal hands. 
The strings of golden tears and yellow stones 
Hang hidy in the hair. I will unbind 
Your lady's locks and shew you. 

Laodice. 

Keep off: I must unloose them, 
It is my custom. 

Danae, in a low voice. 

O, what are you doing? 

Barsine. 

Round to the temples, so: this drops upon the 

brow .... 
That breast of gold — pierced roses, diamond dew — 
Curves on the head, no heavier than your hand .... 
Coils chime upon the ankles — the East walks slowly. 

Laodice. 
We come to the necklace. 

Barsine. 

Yes, but it is lacking. 

Laodice, to the Second Woman. 
You white-faced marvel, body of straight lines, 
Give me your necklace dropt inside your chiton. 

Second Woman. 
O, do you see it ? I cannot let it go — 
It was my sister's, and she is dead since .... 
Ah. .h . . . 



Laodice and Danae 39 

Laodice. 

'Tis well for you it did not strangle you 
When caught. But ye are all so envious yet. 
There, Danae, my hands shall finish you. 
A painted wonder this I have created — 
I am no better than the rest before it. 
And I will do my homage, knees and lips. 

Danae, faintly. 

What is the end, ah me ! 

Laodice. 

But in true Asia 
Great ladies must live veiled ; they are too choice 
For foreign casual sight. 

Barsine. 

This is the veil. 

Laodice. 

Bound so beneath the eyes? Show slipper-tips? 
Indeed you are ended, Danae, and shall part. 
Farewell ! Farewell ! Fare delicately ! Fare swiftly ! 
Will you go down by Ephesus, my rose ; 
Or all the sea? 

First Woman. 

Not Babylon by sea ! 

Laodice. 

If not to Babylon, yet far enough. 

Tie up these arms and bind these feet together ; 

Bear to the columns and cast her forth to sea, 



40 Laodice and Danae 

Where she shall be my satrap of the darkness. 
She has been dying many moments now, 
She shall have burial as one who ceases 
In a strange ship, unfriended on the deeps. 
The women laugh. 

First Woman. 

Joy — but wherewith, O Light? 

Laodice. 

Your sandal-thongs : 
You are good enough to obey me on bare feet. 

Several of the women hastily untie their sandals. 

Fourth Woman, kneeling to bind Dana'e's feet. 
Forget not me to heel, my mighty lady. 

Various Women, clustering about Danae and seizing 
her. 
Come on, come on to Babylon, dread Madam .... 
Up and down to Babylon, cold Highness .... 
I'll be her coiffing slave and tend her head. . . . 
rU be her nurse and hold her in my breast .... 
More humbly I will take her feet in mine .... 
What honour to be trusted with such life — 
A priceless load . . . .Ah, do not let it fall .... 

Danae, to Laodice. 

Yet I have served you well. 

Laodice. 

Yea, very well. 
Whereto did Sophron flee? 



Laodice and Danae 41 

Danae. 

I do not know, 

Laodice. 
Tell me why Sophron fled, and what he knew. 

A pause. 
Tell even where your thoughts are following him. 

A pause. 
Even at what point of my research in him 
Your heart lifted, and I will keep you back. 

A pause. 
Then are you both completed and concluded. 
Knot elbows too, and lift her to the columns. 

Danae. 

Yet I have loved you, 

Laodice. 
You are not mine : this earth shall not contain you. 
I could unmake the stars to ensure darkness 
To cheat me of the places that have known you. 

Danae. 

Must I go out ? 

Then pay me for my spent devotion first. 

Let not these spittly weeds close in and choke me : 

Undrape these silks and Asiatic jeers. 

Let me go loose, and I will go indeed 

As far as your desire — serving you yet. 

Laodice, severing Danae' s bonds with her dagger, then 
rending away her veil and upper garments. 
Your rigid mortal bonds, .... 



42 Laodice and Danae 

Your isolating veil, .... 
Your scarf of earthly flowers, .... 
Your robe that once was royal, .... 
Your chill, worn-out simarre. 
Slide as the world slides .... 
Put off your useless shoes 
To enter a holy place .... 
<Tet to your high estate. 

Danae, standing in her under-garment. 
Gather your jewels. 

Laodice. 

You trifle to gain moments. 

Danae. 

Give me one kiss. 

Laodice. 

You have not time. 
Indicating the surrounding women. 

These wait. 

Danae. 

Your house shall be the firmer by your sentence. 
She takes the sleeping child in her arms, and 
mounts the stairs quickly. 

Several Women. 
The child, she has the child. 

Laodice. 

Yes. And then? 



Laodice and Danae 43 

Danae, pausing by a column. 
The common run of men make small account 
Of high religion : they are very right. 
I saved the man my lover and receive 
This recognition from the Powers who still 
Dispose of us. Laodice killed hers. 
And she is held deserving of all that honour. 

Laodice, pointing at the Fourth Woman. 
Thrust her down, you. 

Danae disappears while the Fourth Woman 
stealthily mounts the stair. Laodice has 
thrown herself on the divan, with her hack to 
the colonnade. 

To-morrow will be soon. 
To-morrow I will sit with men in council, 
And muster men to leaguer Ephesus. 
These fretting hens, these women, burden me — 
I know their eyes too well ; let them keep hid. 
To-morrow I will walk upon the harbour 
And board ray ships and see them manned and 

ready — 
No, no, I will not step towards the sea .... 

Several Women, as Laodice speaks. 

Ai ! Ai ! Is she down ? Not yet. . . . 
I cannot see ... . No one can see. 

Second Woman, sobbing in the corner near the stair. 

My necklace! 
Save my dear gems ! 



44 Laodice and Danae 

Fourth Woman, from the colonnade. 

She is not here. She falls. 

Laodice. 

Is that hoarse dashing how the surge receives her? 
Fourth Woman 

It is the old recession of the waves ; 

The rocks arc bare. No movement could be seen; 

No pallor could emerge. There is no sound. 
Laodice, in a dull voice. 

She has a lulling hand .... Put me to sleep .... 
Curtain. 



"And, O, perchance it is the fairest lot 

At once to be a queen and be forgot; 

For queens are oft remembered by the weighed 

Wild dusky peacock-flashing sins they played, 

But queens clean-hearted leave us and grow less, 

Lost in the common light of righteousness." 

From KING RENE'S HONEYMOON : a Masque. 

Scene VII. 



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